


Christmas, Cunning, and Craft

by Rowena_Hill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 00:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8869009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowena_Hill/pseuds/Rowena_Hill
Summary: Prompt:

The Room of Requirement aides in making a Christmas wish come true for Hermione Granger. "I have been thinking of this for a long time, Miss Granger."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [underthemistletoe](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/underthemistletoe) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> The Room of Requirement aides in making a Christmas wish come true for Hermione Granger. "I have been thinking of this for a long time, Miss Granger."

The humidity of the room was almost unbearable and she tried her best to ignore it as she carefully stirred the concoction in her cauldron. It seemed to her that, after all these centuries, someone would have developed a better ventilation system for the potions room. Or at the very least installed a dehumidifier. She swore that she could hear her master groaning somewhere in the castle. Her Muggle sensibilities simply wouldn't let her be when it came to some things, but as there hadn't been any changes made to the structure of the room at all she could safely assume that it was to do with the nature of brewing itself. Hermione made a mental note to research the possibility anyways.

Sleeves rolled up to her elbows, she stepped back and cast a stasis charm over her potion so that it could cure without being disturbed. She could feel sweat rolling down the small of her back and she wanted nothing more than to take a nice long bath. The castle was quiet, she noted as she left the work room, securing the door behind her, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at those on staff who were fortunate enough to have somewhere else to go to for the Christmas holidays. Of course there were several places she could have gone herself, but she'd opted not to. It was incredibly easy to cite work as the reason when the truth was that being around so many happy people at once was draining.

She let out a sigh as she turned the corner and shuffled into the empty classroom. Well, empty aside from its professor. Of course her master had stayed close by; no doubt he was worried about his apprentice blowing something to pieces in his absence. The thought made her roll her eyes.

"Miss Granger, I assume that everything is as it should be in my storeroom. I should hate to look in and see that I am short one or two ingredients," he said, his voice drawling as he kept his gaze fixed on the essays in front of him. Idly she wondered how much ink he went through in a month from all the marks he made.

"Of course it is, sir," she replied. He looked up at her then, his black eyes boring into her before they briefly flicked down to her scarred forearm. She immediately pulled her sleeves down and she noticed that his mouth had pulled itself further down into its customary frown. Her former professor had his own scars and, like her, he preferred to keep them covered and hidden away.

Hermione decided then to divert the conversation. "Will you be joining everyone in the Great Hall for dinner?" she asked with a pleasant smile. "It is Christmas Eve after all."

Severus let out what might have been a delicate sniff, if he were a delicate sort of man. For a moment she expected him to say humbug, but he didn't. In fact he didn't say anything negative at all. "I think I'd prefer solitude, Miss Granger, or some quiet at the very least," he said, his voice devoid of his usual vitriol. "I thought that perhaps you'd care to join me for a drink later this evening. I'd like to go over your work."

For a moment she just stood there, blinking dumbly as she regarded him. "That would be lovely, sir," Hermione replied. "May I ask that you meet me in the seventh floor corridor, near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy?"

He arched a brow, but nodded. "Eight o'clock."

"Eight o'clock," she echoed, a smile curling over her lips.

Her potions master may have wanted to avoid the rest of the staff and students on Christmas Eve, but she wasn't going to let the evening go without just a bit of cheer. As far as Hermione Granger was concerned they both were in dire need of it.

*

If the potions workroom had been humid then the rest of the castle was positively freezing. Warming charms could only do so much, she thought as she twisted her fingers in front of her in the hopes that the friction would warm them. There was going to have to be a fire, she decided, a large roaring fire. And possibly a thick blanket.

The tower clock struck the hour and she found herself wanting to laugh as Severus Snape rounded the corner, his black robes predictably billowing behind him. Of course he would be precisely on time, she mused, and there she was five minutes early. In the end she supposed that it didn't matter much.

"I trust we're not going to have a glass of firewhisky out in the corridor, Miss Granger," he said by way of greeting. Hermione hadn't been aware that it was firewhisky they'd be drinking, but she wasn't opposed to it.

"Yes, I rather thought we'd settle down on the floor and just pass the bottle around," she replied, her voice matter of fact. Rolling her eyes, she pushed away from the wall and began to pace. It was almost odd talking to him like that while not in fear of losing house points. She wondered if she'd ever really get used to it. A moment later a door materialized in the previously blank wall and she moved to open it. 

His hand was surprisingly warm against her own and for a moment she just stared at it before tilting her head back to look up at him.

"Allow me," he said with no hint of annoyance. "I'm rather looking forward to seeing your little hideaway."

Hermione blushed, much to her own irritation.

*

The room was exactly what she wanted and then some. A fire roared in the hearth and there was an assortment of large, overstuffed couches and chairs. But what drew her eye immediately was the Christmas tree that seemed to dominate the room and put the trees in the Great Hall to shame. She found herself just standing there, staring up at it with child like wonder - and that was something that hadn't happened in a very long time. 

"Charming, Miss Granger," Severus commented, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Her lips pursed as she turned to look up at him. "Don't do that, sir. Don't be that surly bat that the students think you are. Not...not tonight," she said, her cheeks coloring as she realized that she'd practically begged him to be pleasant. He was going to work her to the bone after Christmas, she just knew it.

For a moment he just stood there regarding her with what she could only think of as cool indifference. Then he did something that she didn't expect: he nodded. There was no biting comment, no sneer or roll of his eyes. He just unfastened the clasp of his outer robes and carefully laid the black garment over the back of a nearby chair before striding over to the small bar situated at the far end of the room.

"I trust Ogden's is alright with you?" he asked, holding up the bottle in question before unscrewing the cap.

"Yes, sir," she replied. "It's perfectly fine. Thank you."

He barely acknowledged her as he poured the amber liquid into a pair of crystal tumblers. He was so precise, she noted, and their portions were equally divided. 

"Severus," he said suddenly, causing her to jump like a damn first year. He seemed to have noticed since a smile was trying to tug at the corners of his mouth. "No more 'sir'. Not tonight. As you've pointed out, it's Christmas Eve and there is the fact the you are no longer my student."

Hermione took the proffered glass and held it carefully in both of her hands. "No, but I am your apprentice and calling you 'sir' denotes the respect you deserve."

The look he gave her was almost unreadable but she found herself shrinking slightly under the unwavering intensity of it. "There are those who would disagree with you. They would say that I am not deserving of any respect at all."

"As far as I'm concerned those who think that are small minded and are not worth the attention," she said, her voice taking on an air vehemence that shocked even her. "In fact, I'd say sod them."

Her small attempt at levity earned her an amused sniff. "Be that as it may, it's still Severus. When it is just the two of us."

Hermione let out a sigh and nodded. "As long as you call me Hermione."

"We're agreed then?"

"Yes, it seems we are."

Raising her glass, she waited for him to do the same. The sound of clinking crystal filled the room like a bell and she smiled up at him. "Cheers, Severus."

*

The reason for their little get together was to have drinks, discuss her work, and avoid their potentially tipsy colleagues. While they had accomplished the former and the later, her work had never come up. It was almost as though they'd discussed everything but, magical theory and politics included. Whether or not this was a good thing Hermione wasn't entirely sure.

Somewhere along the line her own outer robes had been discarded, as had her shoes, and she found herself sitting across from her potions master on the sofa with her legs tucked beneath her like a child. For a moment she wondered if that's how he saw her, the impossible little swot that had been the bane of his teaching existence for seven years. She didn't want to ask and she didn't want to admit that it was because she was afraid of the answer.

It was the alcohol, she decided, that had unlocked this floodgate of thoughts. There were so many things that she wanted to ask, wanted to know, and she knew that she could have happily sat and listened to him talk for hours on end. The trouble was that she had realized long ago that it was not a completely academic drive that wanted this scenario. Somewhere along the line she'd developed feelings for the man across from her and acknowledging this only made her want to drink more.

But she didn't. Two glass of firewhisky was her limit, and she was firm on that. Her glass sat empty on the coffee table and she had politely declined a refill. 

"I think," she said as she watched him set the bottle aside. "That we could do with something to eat. Or at least I could."

Giving him a small smile, she uncurled herself from her spot on the couch before standing and giving a little stretch. No doubt there were plenty of leftovers from the feast downstairs and it was such a simple thing to close her eyes and visualize a table of food and have it there when she opened them once more. 

Her bare feet didn't make a sound as she crossed the room and she was more than aware of his eyes on her. It made her nervous and her hands gripped the skirt of her dress as she tried to pretend that her palms weren't damp with sweat. But before she could move any further she found herself frozen. Brow knit in confusion, she looked down at the floor. There was no sticking charm, she noted, and that could only mean one thing.

"Bloody fucking hell," she said as she stared up at the sprig of mistletoe suspended over her head.

"Language, Hermione."

*

It was all she could do to just stare at him as he leaned back against the arm of the sofa, his glass dangling from his fingertips. There was no denying it: Severus Snape was extremely amused and at her expense. The bloody plant had not been there earlier, or she would have avoided it like the plague. The room gave the user what the or she wanted and it seemed that her old professor had been quick on the uptake. Her jaw dropped then and a hot flush spread up her neck and over her cheek.

"How very Slytherin of you," she said as she struggled to keep her tone even.

The man merely shrugged as he downed the last of his whisky. He set his glass aside and rose, his movements as languid as a jungle cat as he moved towards her. This was what it was to be stalked, to be prey, she realized. Somewhere in the back of her mind a very tiny part of her was saying that she ought to be afraid, but that part was ignored completely. The truth was that she found herself rather excited.

"I have been thinking about this for a long time, Miss Granger," he said as he stopped in front of her, just shy of the enchanted mistletoe's influence. "How fortuitous that this room of yours happens to read one’s mind."

"Fortuitous for whom, sir?" she asked, her voice saccharine as she glared up at him. First name basis seemed to have flown out the door as she let herself play his game.

A smirk curled over his lips as he stared down at her. Hermione squared her shoulders then, her arms crossing beneath her chest. It was hard to look intimidating when one was short, but she knew what she was capable of - and so did he. Even still, it all seemed to send a delicious shiver down her spine.

"That is a very excellent question," he commented as he began to circle. Forget jungle cat, she thought, this is all purely serpentine. "I could just leave you here. Take that bottle of firewhisky and go back to my rooms. But, someone would have to come back up here to release you. Eventually of course. I, however, find that that particular course of action does not suit me."

There was something about the tone of his voice that made her heart race in her chest. Her mind couldn't seem to help itself as she thought over everything he'd said, easily reading the implied innuendo of his words. Or, at least she hoped it was implied. Either way she could feel heat pooling in between her legs.

"And what would suit you, sir?" she asked flippantly, hoping that her voice didn't sound quite as breathless as she imagined.

His hands were on her shoulders then, his grip hard as he spun her around to face him. Hermione barely had a chance to react before his mouth was on hers. It was as if all of the air had been sucked from her lungs and her body had been pushed into some silent vacuum. A kiss had never taken her breath away like that and she found that it was a heady experience, never mind knee weakening. Her own hands came up to grip the front of his waistcoat as she kissed him back.

As the enchantment faded around them the kiss surged to a new level. It was as if a desperation had taken over the both of them and neither one of them seemed to mind in the slightest. Hermione was vaguely aware of the strain in her calves as she stood on tiptoe to better reach him, but it was overshadowed by the feeling of his hands smoothing down her back only to rest on her hips. He pressed her closer, the elicited gasp the opening he needed to slide his tongue over hers.

When he finally pulled away they were both panting. Coherence came back to her slowly and it seemed to dawn on her that she had snogged her potions master. Or rather he had snogged her and she reciprocated. Her skin was flushed, her knees still weak, and she still had a hold of his damask waistcoat.

"Do you know that it is in fact possible to hear your mind working?" he asked, his voice carrying a low, husky quality that before she'd only dreamed of.

"Is it? I hadn't noticed," Hermione replied as she tilted her head back to look up at him. She could feel that her lips were swollen and, Merlin help her, she wanted them to remain that way.

"I would apologize for the trickery I employed in order to get you to this state, Hermione, but I don't think I will." 

It was impossible, she realized then, to tell where his pupils ended and his irises began. Would they be like that in the sunlight? Perhaps with her lying next to him in his bed? Merlin, she was fucked.

"Good. I wouldn't want you to apologize anyways," she replied, her tongue darting over her lips. It was with a sense of smug satisfaction that she noticed he'd followed the movement.

He swallowed thickly. "And what would you want?"

"For you to kiss me again," she said. "And, perhaps, to wake up with you on Christmas morning."

Severus Snape smiled. Genuinely smiled. "I think that can be arranged."


End file.
